


His Image

by stc



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gay, Hetalia Countries Using Human Names, Human Names Used, M/M, Most characters are just mentioned, Painting, pretty much just feli
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-17 05:28:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16510238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stc/pseuds/stc
Summary: Feliciano paints Ludwig, examining his feelings for the German man.





	His Image

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this on Wattpad, with the username: ShadowyNightSky
> 
> In case you didn't already know:  
> Feliciano = N. Italy  
> Lovino = S. Italy  
> Ludwig = Germany  
> Kiku = Japan

The greatest chasm lies between the artist's vision and their final piece.

The motion of a brush sweeping across a canvas is rather therapeutic, and Feliciano really needs something to settle his nerves. The Italian man strides confidently up to his front door and passes through the doorframe into his house without missing a single beat. The canvas is calling for him, his hand aching to bring life to its surface. Almost impatiently Feliciano navigates his way to his personal studio. Lovino paid for it to be added onto their house after one too many times walking in on Feliciano painting in the nude in their living room.

Closing the door behind him, Feliciano shucks off his coat and pants and leaves them in a pile in front of the door. As if in a trance Feliciano floats across the room, his feet barely making a sound as he walks across the tarp to the canvas. Sunlight shines in through a large glass window and makes the canvas glow with its touch. Feliciano grabs his supplies on his way over to the canvas, and sets them down gently to the side. Standing directly in front of it in only a white t-shirt and his boxers, pencil in hand, he lets out a long shaky breath to calm his nerves and gets to work.

For a good hour all that is heard is the soft scratching of the pencil against the canvas. Feliciano has long since realized that a canvas is never just a canvas. Each one is a blank universe calling for him to fill it in, unveil its hidden inner world and make it shine. Each canvas has its own story to tell, and typically Feliciano immediately knows how to tell it. Except for this one. This canvas's story has been eluding him for months, bringing him to dead ends and fruitless chases. So Feliciano waited. He worked on the stories of other canvases, some dramatic and others happy, and waited. Then finally, on a day when Feliciano was feeling particularly emotionally charged, it spilled its secrets.

Stepping back from the sketch, Feliciano lets out a soft gasp as he realizes what he drew. A broad shouldered man was leaning against a tree, a few strands of his perfectly swept back hair falling into his eyes, and a gentle smile on his face as he waits for his best friends to join him atop the hill. If it were in color, Feliciano knows that the man's hair would be liquid gold and his eyes would be pieces of the endless sky he was admiring.

Ludwig.

It was how Ludwig looked when Feliciano realized he loved him. Feliciano clearly remembers the blistering hot summer day Ludwig excitedly led him and Kiku to a rather large hill in the countryside. Feliciano had hoped they were going to have a picnic, but of course Ludwig made them sprint suicides. Up and down, up and down that hill Feliciano ran for that man, his legs burning and sweat clinging to his skin. Having shed his other layers along the way, Feliciano finally finished his laps, panting heavily in his undershirt and rolled up pants. Once he caught his breath, he trudged over to the huge tree where Ludwig waited for the other spokes of the axis to finish. Just as Feliciano was about to loudly announce his presence, the air was stolen from his lungs. Ludwig was uncharacteristically calmly leaning against the rough bark of the tree, gazing at the sky. The sun illuminated his hair made from gold. Beads of sweat slowly slid down his neck, slipping beneath the edges of his tank top which contrasted heavily with his pale skin. His coat was neatly wrapped around his waist, so his shoulders and built upper arms were exposed to the sunlight. His eyes reflected the light more brilliantly than any jewel, and were softer than any feather. Then there was his smile. His normally hard pressed lips were relaxed and pulled up in a small, soft smile that softened all of the German man's hard edges. His smile was small and simple, yet what that smile did to him was anything but. Feliciano's heart was already racing and at the sight of Ludwig's smile it started to happily ache as well. His stomach tried to crawl up into his throat as his insides were lighted, warmth spreading outwards from his chest. At that moment Feliciano knew, he loved that man with his entire being.

And he might be having a heart attack.

His hand shaking, Feliciano softly brushes his fingers against Ludwig's face. He knows exactly what the canvas has been waiting to say, and why. A tear rolls down his cheek as he turns away from the sketch. The emotions that were coursing through him throughout the day finally reached their apex, and he shook with the force. He rides out the waves crashing against his mind and heart until the ocean finally calms.

Feliciano stares down at the pencil in his hand, searching for answers he knows it doesn't have. Looking out the window Feliciano can see dancing trees, small white puffy clouds strolling across the sky, and grass swaying to the tune of the breeze. The perfect day to make beautiful art. Letting the pencil roll out of his hand, Feliciano turns around and sets up his palette. He dips his paintbrush in paint and brings it up to the canvas but stops, the brush a hairs breadth from the expanse of white.

If he starts painting, he can't go back.

If he starts painting, the story will become alive.

If he starts painting, he can't deny the truth any longer.

The Italian man takes a deep breath, summons all of his courage, and starts painting.

It is one of the most emotional paintings he's ever done and might ever do, which is a long time to account for considering he's immortal. He rarely feels so much emotion flow from deep within his heart, up his arm, and through his paintbrush into his painting. With every brushstroke the painting becomes charged, the hair on his forearms standing up. Color fills in the story, from the bright greens of the rustling leaves to the dark browns of the tree's trunk, to the vibrant grass being crushed underneath the man's boot. Color flows into everything but the man. Feliciano is still scared to paint in Ludwig. He's scared to let life flow into the man. Scared to unleash the emotions bubbling beneath the surface.

But he can't back down now.

Trembling, Feliciano slowly weaves gold into Ludwig's hair. Slowly lets the blue jewels glint in the sunlight. Slowly traces his cross. With every slow brushstroke the trembling subsides, and Feliciano allows himself to just feel. He feels a soft joy blossoms in his chest as he fondly sweeps the brush along Ludwig's jaw. He feels a mild irritation at the red mixing with green on his palette. He feels the warmth spreading to his cheeks and seeping into the sunlight he mimics. Feliciano smiles as he continues painting for hours, his love for the man in front of him giving him the strength to persevere into the late hours of the night.

The morning sun is casting its rays into the room when he finishes.

Feliciano pulls a stool near the painting and promptly collapses on it. The Italian yawns widely, the emotional night slowly catching up to him. It was more of a mental than physical fatigue. Looking down, Feliciano sees that he is covered in paint. Shrugging off his paint splattered t-shirt, Feliciano brings his focus back to the painting. Feliciano's eyes widen and he momentarily forgets how to breathe.

It is the most beautiful painting he's ever created.

Never before has his vision transferred itself so clearly onto the canvas. The lighting is just right, shadows providing perfect contrast, and the details brought out by the shading make it seem all the more alive. Tears of happiness begin to flow from Feliciano's eyes.

 

He would give Ludwig the world if he asked for it, but for now this painting will do.


End file.
